Forged in Fire
by BLACK1294
Summary: After Freyja's family was murdered, for more than a decade, she lived the life of a living ghost between the walls of Winterhold College. After 12 years of playing the role of a prisoner, she seizes the opportunity to live. But, will her family's murderer allow her? Was she forced to live as a ghost only to die from her birthright?
1. Blessings in Disguise

Disclaimer: Prongsdeer is the author who generated the idea for this story. She is also the author of the first 15 chapters. I'm simply taking over the story after Prongsdeer has hit a severe case of writer's block. I have gone through and put in a few of my own scenes and added and deleted other scenes. I have also edited the piece as a whole for consistency and grammatical mistakes. You can find Prongsdeer at Tumblr as marvelcapsicle and AO3 as prongsdeer or u/9139894/

I do not own Skyrim or any of its characters.

* * *

It was one of those rare days when the sky was not grey but the lightest shade of blue above Winterhold. Amongst the never-ending cold, biting wind, and snowstorms, one could only find a couple days every other month when the weather was sunny and the sun would give warmth to the skin. Only if they were lucky because weeks and months easily passed here without seeing the sun. People who spent all their lives in the north getting used to it.

Despite the cold, Freyja never liked to stay inside, between the grey stone walls of the college, not even when it was snowing hard and she couldn't feel her feet after fifteen minutes being outside. But this was the place where she needed to stay; far away from the heart of Skyrim, in the safety of the College of Winterhold.

Only four years ago the Archmage finally let her go outside on her own – before that day, she either stayed inside or needed to take someone with herself. And even if there was someone who was willing to freeze their limbs off because of her, she was not allowed to leave the small village, not even with company.

"You're wondering what did it look like before the Great Collapse, aren't you?" Tolfdir asked the old Nord mage.

Earlier on that day, when Freyja was preparing to go outside, he asked if he could go with her to collect some berries and roots – but the girl knew he just liked to keep an eye on her. They both wore nothing more than their thick, long, blue mages robes and hoods on their heads. "It was grand," he continued. "The city was gorgeous and you could think about nothing else but power and wealth. Scholars and merchants came from all over Tamriel to…"

"I heard this story a thousand times before, thanks," Freyja sighed before she turned her head away from the scenery and started to walk back towards the village. It was true that she was thinking about it a lot when she looked down at the Sea of Ghost. Seeing the ruins of the city, She wondered how could it have looked like before it collapsed. But she grew bored of listening to the same stories from the same people over and over again.

"No need to be so harsh, Freyja," the old man grumbled behind her, trying to keep up with the nimble girl on the snowy, frosty road. She furrowed her brows when she spotted not one, not two, but at least a dozen horses outside the Frozen Heart – the only inn the village.

"Stay outside!" Tolfdir said warningly. But, she was too curious to stop and listen to the mage. Besides, loud singing and cheering could mean nothing wrong…

Upon entering the inn, she was almost knocked off her feet as a young man bumped into her with the biggest tankard Freyja had ever seen. He murmured a sorry and something more with arched eyebrows as he ran his eyes down her form. His words were slurred and she couldn't understand him.

"I told you to stay outside!" Tolfdir said angrily once he finally reached her. The inn was filled with soldiers in blue uniforms – Stormcloaks, as Freyja recognized. Their loud singing echoed in the room, and they were drinking like there was no tomorrow.

"We should go back to the college," Tolfdir said, looking around with a frown on his forehead.

"I want to stay," Freyja smiled. She stopped asking long ago and all the mages knew it was impossible to convince her otherwise once she decided.

Yet still, Tolfdir tried. "Absolutely not. They are dangerous, violent men."

"I'll go back if I feel uncomfortable, I promise," she said with a sweet smile and stepped closer, so he could hear her better in the noise. "And you know I can take care of myself."

Grudgingly, the mage left the Frozen Heart, leaving Freyja to stay there in the company of the rebel soldiers. She took her hood off, letting her long, dark auburn hair fall on her back. Her hazel eyes were scanning the room, searching for a familiar face while she fought her way through the crowd. She finally spotted the owner of the inn, Dagur, who just brought up a new barrel from the basement. Freyja was sure she had never seen this man so happy before.

"What are they celebrating," she asked him loudly.

Before Dagur could give her an answer, a man with dirty blonde hair and light blue eyes stepped closer to her, talking in a loud, strained voice.

"Haven't you heard, girl? The whole north is ours now!"

Even more cheering and clapping filled the room. The noise so defining, Freyja forgot for a second it was just around a dozen soldiers and not a whole army. She chuckled before she bought herself some wine and joined the soldiers; she didn't talk with them, just listening to their stories over the next couple of hours. Only a few people lived in Winterhold, visitors were so rare – it was refreshing to see new faces around.

It was the dead of the night, and Freyja caught herself wishing she could go with them. Listening to the stories of strangers was not as fulfilling as it once was - but to live with them and experience their adventure! What a dream that would be next to her current dismal like of spending her days with her nose stuffed in a book of spells and history within the cold stone walls of the prestigious college.

She leaned back on the wooden chair, a small smile on her face, her eyes staring off into the distance. She tapped her fingers against the empty tankard, lost in her thoughts.

She was only ten years old when the Archmage brought her here, over a decade ago, and there was not a day went by she didn't think about leaving Winterhold. Going _home_ , traveling around the Empire…

But that simply wasn't a possibility. The College of Winterhold was as much her sanctuary as it was her prison.

"What are you doing here?" the dirty blonde soldier she saw earlier pulled a chair closer to her, nearly falling into the fire as he stumbled. The alcohol had long since blunted his senses. He managed to fall into the chair with a low grunt before he turned to the girl again. "Sorry," his voice friendlier than before. "I'm Ralof."

"Freyja."

"Freyja," she smiled, and it softened his features immediately. Under the weight of the war that roughened the lines of his face, Ralof seemed young, not much older than Freyja.

The Civil War had been going on for three years now, but it escalated quickly after the High King was killed by Ulfric Stormcloak. It happened only a couple months prior, but now it was extremely dangerous to travel. Everyone was advised to stay in the cities. Even then, it clearly wasn't safe to be in Skyrim itself.

"Young Nord girls like you usually can't be found amongst wizards."

That was true. Most northerners were afraid of magic and even despised it. The college was full of elves and orcs too; who only added to the college's unfriendly reputation. Freyja and Tolfdir were the only Nords within the Winterhold vicinity.

"That's a longs story," she said with a small smile, peering down into his empty tankard.

"We have plenty of time," Ralof said, leaning back on his chair, putting his leg up on another. "Of course, I understand if it's something you don't want to talk about."

Freyja looked around in the place. It was nearly empty now; most of the soldiers returned to their rented rooms for the night, others fell asleep in their chair. One part of her wanted to tell him all those things that happened to her ages ago, the other part of her sunk into the pit of her stomach as she remembered the bloody scene to ending her childhood.

She wondered how it would feel to finally talk about it with someone – anyone. She had never done it before.

The scene of her family's murder grew more vivid in her mind as she contemplated telling the Stormcloak the reality of her situation: her mother's screams, her younger brother choking on his own blood, the family home collapsing in on itself.

Taking a deep breath, she tapped her fingers against the tankard again before she said, "I don't."

Ralof's nodded. He clearly expected this answered. "I'm sorry for prying."

"It's alright," Freyja cut him off quickly with a small smile. "The Archmage was a good friend of my family. He took me in when I was young. I've been here ever since."

Ralof sat in silence. "This war has affected us all whether we care to admit it or not. I understand wanting to stay neutral. But, I think everyone will have a time where they will have to choose a side. I'd like to imagine that people who choose their side based on their beliefs, but I think loss is what causes most people choose their allegiances." Freyja decided it was best not to correct the soldier's assumptions of her past. It would be best for her own safety if she didn't go around spreading her sad story. Despite the Archmage's best efforts on that fateful day, it was a real possibility the murderer was still at large.

Ralof grabbed his brown leather flask from the ground and filled Freyja's tankard.

"What is this?"

"Best wine of Markarth," Ralof smiled, clicking his tankard against hers.

She felt her insides heated up immediately after the first sip. It was strong but sweet, not like those sour, cheap drinks from the north. Ralof laughed as he saw the girl eagerly emptied her tankard.

"It isn't like anything you've ever tried before, is it? I hope one day our people will learn to make something like this, too."

Freyja shrugged. "I think, for the northerners, it doesn't really matter unless it keeps them warm."

Ralof let out another short laugh, but before he could say anything more, the door of the inn burst open with a loud bang.

"Run!" the blonde man shouted to Freyja after they both jumped up from their chair. The soldiers in red armor stormed into the inn, bows, swords, and axes in hands. Her first instinct was indeed to run – but there was nowhere to go. There were at least two or three Imperials for every Stormcloaks. They were outnumbered, and as they were tired, half asleep and drunk anyway, it wasn't hard to take them down.

Freyja watched the scene with her feet frozen to the hardwood floor. She looked around Ralof caught her eyes and shouted again, "Run!" Immediately taking heed to his command, Freyja started for the door. She had barely taken a step when a strong hand closing around her upper arm.

Without thinking about it, she raised her other hand and directed it at the soldier's face. Fire emerged from her palm, burning the man's skin from his bones. He let her arm go, screaming, trying to save his own burning flesh.

Once again Freyja barely took a step towards the door when she felt a blunt, deep pain on the back of her head and everything went black.

* * *

"Freyja. Freyja, wake up," Ralof called in a choked voice, his foot brushing against hers. The first thing she noticed was the throbbing pain in her head. The small bumps and jolts of the carriage just made it worse. The second thing that she was sweating. She finally opened her eyes, trying to see through her blurry vision. There wasn't any snow – they must be far away from Winterhold.

"Finally awake," Ralof sighed. "We're almost there."

She looked down to see her wrists were tied together – it wasn't a rope but white, glowing lines hugging around her wrists, and she knew it would prevent her from doing any magic. Taking her chances, she tried anyway, but nothing happened.

"You've been knocked out for days. I tried to tell them to let you go, that you aren't one of us, but they didn't care," he said with disgust in his voice. "What does one more innocent life matter to them," he shouted, causing the driver of the carriage to turn his head back at them.

"Shut up back there!"

"Where are they taking us?" she finally asked. Her mouth was dry. It made her voice sound hoarse.

"Helgen," Ralof replied with sadness in his voice. "They're too cowardly to go to take us to the capital – too far you see. The sooner we're all dead the better. I'm surprised they didn't kill all of us right and there."

Freyja felt as all the air leave her lungs. After all these years she's finally returning home, her real home, only to take one last look at the town from the chopping block. They are going to be executed – does it really have to end like this?

"Are you okay?" Ralof asked softly as he saw the girl's tears filled eyes.

She looked up and cleared her throat, nodding slightly. "I was born in Helgen."

Ralof closed his eyes with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Freyja," then added a bit later, "At least you'll die in your hometown."

She let out a shaky breath she felt she was holding since forever – every part of her screamed. She didn't want to die. Not here, not yet, not like this…

They arrived before Freyja had time to process everything that had happened to her in such a short time. Hadn't she been in the Frozen Hearth just moments ago? No, it had been days. She state of unconsciousness in the travel between Winterhol and Helgen had left her with a warped sense of time.

Imperial soldiers dragged them down from the carriage, one by one, guiding them through the small, quiet town. Freyja heard the whispers and saw the curious eyes, and she wondered if there was anyone who knew her once. They stopped somewhere that seemed like the main square of Helgen; the headsman was already waiting for them.

She felt her heart banging against her ribs, and even now, she still felt the tiniest hope. She watched as two Imperials walked down on the row of the Stormcloaks, one of them with a parchment in his hand.

"Name?"

"Freyja," she looked up at the man, and she was surprised to find her voice was strong. She saw his eyes scanned through the parchment once and twice before he turned to the woman on his left.

"Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list."

The tall woman with dark skin and strict eyes looked at Freyja for a second before she said simply, "Forget the list. She was with them and she attacked our soldiers."

"That was self-defense, you fucking cowards!" Ralof shouted at Freyja's right, earning a punch in the face from the woman. He choked back a grunt and spat blood on the ground.

The Imperial captain took a last glance at the blonde man before her dark eyes stopped on Freyja; a tiny smirk tugged on the corner of her lips before she grabbed the girl's forearm. "You can be the first."

"You bitch!" Freyja heard Ralof's shout – it seemed he was a thousand miles away. Every noise was muffled while the Imperial captain dragged her to the log in the middle of the square. She took a last look at the darkening sky – it rumbled deeply like a storm was coming, even though the sun was shining only a few minutes ago. The woman forced Freyja's head down to the wood before she stepped back and waved to the executioner.

"Any last words?"

 _Any last words?_ The question echoed in Freyja's head as she turned her head to the side, trying to look up at the man in the black mask with the huge axe in his hands. She stared the shiny edge, but her eyes found something else soon in the distance.

The great black wings cast dark shadows above Helgen. For a split second, Freyja was sure she was hallucinating, or she lost her right mind. Until she heard the first screams and the shouts and then felt the heat from the dragon's fire. The execution fell into chaos within seconds.

Once again, Freyja couldn't move or think. She was frozen to her spot until she felt a hand around her arms, pulling her up on her feet.

"Come on," Ralof said, quickly cutting her magical bindings off with a knife as black as midnight. "I need to get you out of here!"

Screaming citizens were running in every way, trying to save their lives from the dragon's wrath. Freyja and Ralof tried to fight their ways through the burnings pieces of the town. The black dragon destroyed everything on its way. She could hear nothing but death and the low rumbling from the beast's chest.

They stopped under a half-collapsed house, watching as the winged beast destroyed the last pieces of her childhood. Ralof clenched his jaw. He peeked out from their shelter – Their escape was filled with stones and burning wood, closing their way out. Ralof heaved a sigh, and Freyja could tell the last pieces of his hope started to leave him.

"The Jarl's storage tower," she whispered, causing the blonde man to look up.

"What?"

She grabbed his forearm and pulled him out from under the ruins, pointing her fingers at a grey tower, standing near to the main square, next to the Jarl's house. "It has a tunnel that leads out from the town."

Freyja could see as hope sparkled up in his eyes, staring at the building before he shook his head. "We'll be burnt to death before we could reach it."

"It's our only chance." Freyja rushed out into the open area of the main square. There was no cover and she could practically feel her death approaching her from all sides.

The smell of smoke and burning flesh filled the air – it was sickening. Freyja felt the intense heat pressing up against her face, even when there was no fire nearby. There was not a single building that wasn't damaged. She saw Imperial soldiers fighting, shooting their arrows at the dragon, but none of them could penetrate the dragon's skin. She saw screaming men and women, their flesh burning under their armor. Freyja wanted to stop and help, but Ralof, who had been right on her heels, gripped her tight and pulled her with him.

They reached the tower sooner than they thought they could. It wasn't a moment after when Freyja found the door was locked tight that Ralof began to kick at the door with all his might. But the door wouldn't give.

"Wait," Freyja said, pulling out two lock picks from her robe pocket. She opened the lock sooner than the soldier on her right had the time to process what she was doing. They quickly ran in, closing the door shut after themselves.

"Are those wizards taught you this?" Ralof asked, still out of breath.

"No," she replied with a tiny smile. "It's a game I use to play with my father. We should hurry."

"You're right," Ralof nodded, looking around the huge storage room. He picked up an axe, before turned to Freyja. "Choose a weapon. I had a feeling we'll need it."

Freyja picked the weapon closest to her– a sword, and followed Ralof through the dark chambers. She bit back the thoughts in her head. She'd had never used a sword before.

They could hear the dragon's rage even down there, under the town.

"How is this even possible?" Ralof asked suddenly, his voice low but filled with anger. "The legends are true?"

Freyja, who had read more books in her life than she could count, said nothing. Mages treated it like a fact, that dragons indeed existed once – Skyrim just hasn't seen any in a long time. Most of the Nords, on the other hand, thought it was only tales to scare children.

"Stop," Ralof said in a choked voice, stopping before a door. They heard voices, but it couldn't be more than two or three people.

"Maybe they will let us through…"

Ralof snorted. "If Imperials are in there, they'd rather see us eaten alive by the dragon." She closed her eyes. Seeing her so scared, Ralof stepped closer and put an arm on her shoulder. "We got another chance. I'm not going to let us die here."

Freyja nodded and let out a shaky breath. she shook her body and tried to pull herself together. They were in a good way to escape from a dragon, they couldn't get killed by some men now… She felt her legs trembling under her body as Ralof opened the door of the room.

"Well, well, well, look at you," one of the two Imperial soldiers said, his hand clutching his hilt. "I thought all of you traitors were crushed into the ground where you belong."

Ralof's grip tightened around his axe. "Let us through and no one else has to die."

The two imperials laughed in answer. "And why do you think we're afraid of you? you and that witch?"

"I've had enough of this," the other, taller Imperial said, drawing his sword and rushing towards to Ralof. He answered immediately, blocking it easily with his axe, even though the man was nearly twice of Ralof's size.

Freyja stepped backward. She wanted to help him, but she knew she'd get killed before she could even raise her arm up. They were trained soldiers, and she had never been in a fight before.

The other Imperial set his sights on her– a smirk on his lips. He swung the sword in his hand. "Come and dance, darling."

What was she doing? This sword was useless to her. It was only a hindrance. She dropped the sword down on the floor. The soldier laughed. "You're making it too easy. I love it more when a girl plays the hard to get." Disgust engulfed her. She could feel the bile rise in her throat.

Freyja reached her hands out with her palm facing with the Imperial as he ran at her with his sword held high. Her invisible shield made him halt in surprise. He swung his sword at the shield and watched as his sword bounced off it. He tried again and again, but couldn't get any closer – not until the anger made him strike down repeatedly until Freyja fell down on the cold ground, hitting the back of her head to a wooden pillar, causing her nearly lose consciousness.

"Freyja, stand up!" she heard Ralof's voice whilst he was still fighting with the other man. She tried, but the next thing she felt an arm pushing her back down the ground, the sword coming closer to her face.

she grabbed the blade just in the last moment. It split her skin open, cutting deeply into her flesh. Instinctively, she pushed magically energy into the sword. It froze and shattered into tiny pieces.

Freyja could only enjoy a second of relief before the soldier pushed her down again and put his hands around her throat, squeezing as hard as he could. She gasped for air and managed to bring her wounded hands up, clutching her fingers around the man's naked arm, burning it with her fire.

His eyes widened and he loosened his grip for a second before squeezed harder again, harder than before, roaring from the pain as Freyja burned his flesh.

Her head spun from the lack of oxygen, blood pumped bluntly in her ears. She felt her hands weakened more and more around the arms of the man above her. She was loosing. She was going to die. Freyja felt her anxiety reach a height she had never know before.

A moment before her arms would lose their grip completely, the Imperial's eyes widened in pure shock, blood leaking from his mouth before Ralof pulled a sword out of his throat and pushed him away before his body could collapse on top of her.

Freyja desperately gasped for air, shoving the deadman away from her. It almost felt like his hands were still around her neck.

Ralof sat down next to her and pulled her up. Blood colored his face, but otherwise, he looked unharmed. "Slowly," he said softly, his hands either side of her shoulders. "Slow down."

She tried to do as he said, but it still took a long minute until her breath went back to somewhat normal. She looked up then, her eyes still teary. "Thank you."

Ralof shook his head slowly. "You've never used a sword before, have you? I understand," he continued, not waiting for her answer. "But you could just go straight to melting his face off. If you don't kill them, they'll kill you. You saw the true face of the Empire earlier."

Freyja merely nodded before she tore a piece off of her robe, making a quick bandage around her wound. "We need to get out of here."

Further, into the tunnels, there were no stone walls, no torches, nor any sound except their own footsteps and ragged breaths. They both found some peculiar items down in the tunnels. Freyja managed to collect an old hunting bow and a few arrows. This made her feel much safer. She had spent many years practicing the art of the bow. It's one of the few excuses she found that would consistently get her outside. The Archmage new it was imperative that she learned to defend herself. And even though she was a talented mage, magic was a limited art. The amount of magical energy one possessed determined how long a mage could use magic for. It was always smart to have a backup plan. Or, so this was the argument she'd given the Archmage when they discussed her learning archery. So, Freyja practiced every chance she got. It became her meditation. The sport calmed her nerves and strengthened her senses as well as her arms.

Freyja gulped down the fresh air the moment she stepped out of the tunnels. It felt like it had been ages since she had stepped into the sunlight.

"My family run an inn in Riverwood. We'll go there."

Looking around, it seemed impossible that on the other side of the mountain there was a town burning down to the ground – was the dragon still there? Freyja shook her head. "I'll accompany you there but I'm heading to Whiterun. Someone needs to warn the Jarl about the Dragon attack and I'm sure Riverwood will need the aid of the Jarl with this dragon flying around."

Ralof's lips pressed together. "I'm not sure that's wise. The roads are dangerous and you're a wanted woman whether your innocent or not."

Freyja let out a hearty laugh. She could feel her stress rising as she came to the conclusion that her little adventure has not yet ended. "I'm not wanted anymore. Everyone who knows I'm affiliated with the Stormcloaks all burned today."

Rolaf searched her face. "You're taking this incredibly well for someone who's never been in combat."

"Beginner's luck."

Riverwood was only two hours of walk from Helgen. They didn't talk at all on the road. Everything seemed too surreal than put into words.

The small village looked quiet and peaceful; clearly, no one knew what happened a few miles away. There were people talking, working, children playing…

"Ralof!" A young, black-haired woman yelled with sparkling eyes, but her smile faded away after he turned to her and she saw blood and smoke covered his body. "What…"

"There's no time now, Frea," he said. Quickly, he turned to Freyja. "Are you sure you want to go on." Now several pairs of eyes were watching, and Freyja couldn't blame them; they were dirty, their clothes ragged and bloody.

"I'm sure. The jarl needs to be warned." But, Ralof didn't hear her. A blonde woman had stepped out from a small house into the garden. Ralof's relative, no doubt. She had the same features, her face kind, the hair blonde, the same icy blue eyes.

"Gerdur," he said almost weakly, causing his sister to turn her head to them quickly.

"Ralof?!"

Freyja couldn't help but smile at their embrace, tears and mumbled words exchanged. But she couldn't stay. She had to leave. "Thank you. For everything," she said before she turned to cross the bridge and slipped away before Ralof noticed her absence.

Every once in a while, Freyja would glance across the river to view the peaceful A moment later she trotted away, and despite everything that happened in the last few hours, she felt more hopeful than ever before.


	2. Those who stand against Us

Disclaimer: Prongsdeer is the author who generated the idea for this story. She is also the author of the first 15 chapters. I'm simply taking over the story after Prongsdeer has hit a severe case of writer's block. I have gone through and put in a few of my own scenes and added and deleted other scenes. I have also edited the piece as a whole for consistency and grammatical mistakes. You can find Prongsdeer at Tumblr as marvelcapsicle and AO3 as prongsdeer or u/9139894/

I do not own Skyrim or any of its characters.

***I decided to scrap what I had to make a longer more drawn out story. Sorry to everyone who was following. Please bear with me.***

* * *

The road from Riverwood to Whiterun wasn't long in length so much as it was long in the trials she faced. She ran into Imperial soldiers more than once. Wolves, Bears, and a thief all attempted to stop her in her tracks. The wolves hadn't been much of a challenge, but the bear had forced her to climb a tree and shower it with fire and arrows until it fell to the ground. The thief has an entirely different story. The moment he realized she had absolutely nothing he just walked away from her.

Freyja hung her head. Her neck was sore. Several times she walked to the edge of the white river to peer at her reflection. Bruises took the form of the soldier's fingers.

She felt her lips tremble. In her reflection, she saw her chin wobble as tears began to well up in her eyes.

She could have died. There had been nothing to stand between her and death other than sheer luck.

Frej remembered how she had waved off Tolfdir, the mage instructor, and told him she could take care of herself. Obviously, she was wrong. Her magic barely helped her.

Refusing to let the tears fall, Freyja quickly stooped down and threw a handful of water into her face. The water chilled her skin, soothing the puffy skin surrounding the bottom of her eyes.

Glancing around her, she spotted the towering palace from far away. Slowly the sorrow she had for her own circumstances was replaced with the scholar she was raised to be. An ebbing excitement rose within her.

The palace was built from a single tree – not just any tree, but from Eldergleam. During the first eras, these trees could be found all over Skyrim, and they were famous for their fire-resistant qualities. Now, only a few remained in the north. The palace was famous. The fire-resistant properties made it ideal for protecting the citizens of the city from a dragon attack, whether the dragon was flying around the city or trapped inside the wooden prison down below the palace.

Freyja stepped out from the protection of the trees. The excitement still bouncing around in the forefront of her mind, when she saw the dragon again – the same dragon – with the great, black wings, flying across the sky above Whiterun. It disappeared sooner than anyone had time to process what they just saw.

Freyja's heart gripped in her chest, reminding her of her feeble escape from the dragon and all the imperial soldiers. It was still out there. The dragon would attack again.

She picked up her pace and pressed herself to reach the gates as soon as she could.

...

Her breath came quickly as she ran past a large meadery and spotted a giant surrounded by three figures.

Panic arose in her heart. Quickly she ducked behind a stone fence in the hope the giant wouldn't spot her.

What was with the outside world? It was just one disaster after another. Why would anyone what to travel? Why had she been so insistent on leaving the college?

Because it was worth it. Because despite all the pain and hardships, life was worth living at your own terms.

Freyja peered around the top of the rock.

Giants may be slow and stupid, but they were formidable creatures. All it took was one hit and you were as good as dead.

Freyja watched the warriors attack the giant. Judging by the way they maneuvered around the beast, they were experienced fighters.

Quietly she strung her bow, knocked her last arrow and aimed.

Freyja had little practice with moving targets. Every once in a while she'd shoot a deer while she was out picking herbs with one of the mages. But this was different. Should she even try to help? She may hit one of the warriors. Ridiculous. She was well trained. She shook her head, clearing the worries from her head. It had been many years since she had actually missed. She was rather formidable with a bow. Why doubt herself now.

She drew in a breath, held the oxygen in her lungs and let the arrow fly upon exhale.

The giant's head slung backward as the arrow struck the beast in the right eye socket. Slowly, the giant fell to his knees and kissed the ground.

A smile touched Freyja's mouth. Certainly, the giant had been worn down by the warriors hacking at its legs, but she had put in the killing shot.

She straightened. There was no reason to hang around. She still needed to get to the Jarl. Hurriedly, Freyja strapped the bow to her back and continued her sprint to the gate. A small bit of courage settled back into her heart. She wasn't helpless.

Frakas POV

As if the giant had suddenly suffered a heart attack, it collapsed upon the ground. Aela scratched her head. "He went down rather easy, didn't he?

Farkas couldn't help but agree. They only just started working on the giant. It should have been a little while before the giant's life force had given way the spirit realm.

He sheathed his skysteel sword and relished in the decent workout.

It was a warm day. Although the early morning had nipped at his skin, the weather had taken a vicious turn. The air, hot and humid, made him sweat and more irritable than he usually was.

Skeptically, Farkas sniffed the air.

Out of the corner of his eye, a traveler rushed by the farm. He paid the woman no mind. Travelers were common in Whiterun and he smelled no hostility from the stranger.

Farkas scanned the body and spotted the source of the giant's death. An arrow. This one was not of the special make that Aela liked to purchase. This arrow was commonly made and roughly tattered.

Quickly, Farkas lifted his nose into the air and took in a long breath. No one was near, no one except the stranger. He watched the retreating back of the traveler, focusing on the shabby bow slung across her bow.

When he first became aware of her, she had just barely cleared the meadery. Meaning, she had taken that shot from 250 feet with that ghost of a bow. Impressive.

Farkas let Aela and Ria lead the way to Whiterun; his eyes steadily trained on the figure disappearing into the gates.

Freyja POV

Whiterun was an open city despite its stone walls. The streets, wide and filled with people. Children were playing and running around everywhere, and only a few guards stood here and there. It was clear that no one knew about the dragon, nor Helgen.

She followed the cobblestone paths through the streets and up several stone steps until she reached the wooden palace. Just as the city itself, the palace was open and filled with people. No wonder the citizens loved their Jarl so much.

"So, is it true? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

Thousands of pictures flashed before her eyes again. The dragon, Helgen, everything on fire, the Stormcloaks, the Imperials, her head on a pike…

"Yes, I had a great view while the Imperials tried to chop my head off," it blurted out of her and she swallowed hard, already regretting her choice of words.

Jarl Balgruuf let out a short chuckle, but his small blue eyes remained serious. "You're certainly… forthright about your criminal past…" he started, but Freyja cut him off.

"I am no criminal. My only sin was being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Watch your tongue, girl! You're speaking to the Jarl of Whiterun," Irileth, housecarl of the Jarl, said. Balgruuf waved his hand.

"It is none of my concern who the Imperials want to execute. Especially now," he said, and Freyja gave a nod in answer. Irileth watched her fervently with narrowed eyes. When the Jarl spoke up again, his voice came out like a whisper. "It is true, then."

"Yes. It is true. I am not sure if there is anything left of Helgen."

The Jarl gave a quick nod, then stood up from his throne. "Irileth, send some soldiers to Riverwood at once. Order them to stay there until we say they can come back. As for you," he looked directly at Irileth and took a deep breath, "You take three of your best soldiers, a healer, and search for survivors in Helgen. Now."

"Yes, my Jarl," Irileth nodded and hurried out immediately. Balgruuf sat down again; he looked troubled. He exchanged a small glance with his steward before the Jarl looked back at Freyja once again.

"You lived in Helgen?"

Freyja only nodded in answer. Of course, it was the first time in twelve years she saw the little town, yet she still felt a kinship to the land and its people. Balgruuf stood up again and walked down the few stairs that separated his throne room from the rest of the grand hall. "You did us a great service, Freyja. You can stay in the palace as long as you want. Jorlief will show you to your room," he nodded at his steward who bowed his head. "If there is anything I can do for you…"

"Can I see your mage? I need to send a letter."

The Jarl nodded immediately. "Of course. Jorlief will show you the way."

The steward escorted Freyja up to the tower, where she was shown to an extravagant room meant to be hers. He, than, showed her the way to the mage's chamber. She stopped in front of the door with a smile, then knocked once and twice after Jorlief left. She heard the familiar voice, "Come in."

Farengar was lost in his maps. He didn't even look up when Freyja stepped in and closed the door behind herself; only her voice made him stop reading the ancient runes in the margins. "This isn't a nice way to welcome an old friend."

She could see in his eyes that first, he didn't recognize her. Then his friendly brown eyes softened, and suddenly, he looked years younger. "Freyja?"

He stepped out from behind his desk and they hugged each other. "It's good to see you, Farengar."

Farengar was the only Nord in the college next to Freyja and Tolfdir, and the only one who was at least close to her age. If you could call ten years older close in age. He had left five years ago, and they hadn't seen each other ever since.

"What are you doing here?" he asked once they pulled back, a smile still on his face.

Freyja heaved a sigh and looked around the bright room. Her eyes stopped on a book on his desk; it was leather-bound with nothing but a silver dragon on the cover: The Book of the Dragonborn. She recognized it immediately, as she had read it more than once in the College.

"Are you still studying dragons?" she asked in a teasing tone. "No one can say that you aren't persistent."

The mage let out a short chuckle. No one has seen dragons in centuries, still, he chose them as his major field of research. Almost everyone thought he was stupid to waste his time for something like this, even at the College. But Farengar was relentless. "I am."

"Then I think I have some interesting news for you."

After they sat down across each other, Freyja told him everything; every little detail from the moment the Imperials set their feet into the Frozen Heart. Farengar didn't interrupt but silently listened to everything she had to say. She could tell he believed her every word. After she finished, the mage stood up and walked to the window, scanning the landscape of Whiterun. His eyes told that even though he was worried, he wasn't so surprised. Moments later, when he was still speechless, Freyja felt the urge to shout at him to finally say something – but she knew he believed her, and for now, that was more than enough.

Farengar turned around and gave a short nod. "I need to write to a friend of mine. We… yes, we need to do something while it is not too late." He sat back down at his desk and freed some space, unfolded an empty parchment, giving another to Freyja. "And you should write to the Archmage."

Freyja nodded. "That's why I came here in the first place."

But she couldn't hold the quill properly in her wounded hands. She growled in pain, making Farengar look up.

"Let me help with that," he said and took the dirty pieces of cloth off Freyja's hands after she reached her arms out. She winced in pain and seeing the deep cuts on both of her palms. Farengar walked to the corner of his room and poured some water in a bowl. "Healing spells were never your strength."

"I can't be perfect in everything, can I," Freyja said jokingly while her friend cleaned her wounds up, making him laugh. But they both knew it was only a half-joke – Freyja was indeed incredibly good at every spell she had ever tried so far. At least the ones she was interested in.

The wounds started to bleed again, but after Farengar held his palms over hers, the warm yellow light closed the skin together. Only red scars remained. "Wait a second," he said and stood up again, disappeared in his bedroom for a minute before returned with some herbs.

"This will prevent scarring. Hopefully," he said, applying the green salves on her wounds before binding her hands with fresh bandages.

It was hard to put into writing everything that happened in the past few days. For long minutes, the little piece of parchment remained empty. Then finally, when Farengar long finished his own, short letter, Freyja scribbled down what happened to her. She almost folded the parchment until a thought struck her. Her fingers tightened around the quill.

It was very possible that the Archmage would send some teachers from the college to retrieve her. Her heart sank. She thought back to the wolves, bear, and giant. She was able to defend herself. She had proof of it now. And even though it was evident that she was safer in the walls of the College, she did not wish to return. There wasn't a life there, not when she was basically trapped there. And what would she do when the Archmage died. He was over 100 years old. He was the real reason why she had remained safe all these years. Perhaps it was better to leave and build a life for herself while still under the pretenses of being at the college while the Archmage was still alive. Hesitantly, she scribbled, "I do not wish to go back to the College. You know I've wanted to leave for a very long time. I am safe now, in Whiterun, so please, do not try to take me back. I hope we will meet again soon."

Unable to reread it, she quickly rolled the parchment up and sealed it, before she gave it to Farengar.

"What are you going to do now?" Farengar asked once he sent the ravens on their way. "I assume you are not going to go back to Winterhold."

"I want to sleep." Freyja chuckled as it blurted out of her, but that was the truth; she felt more tired than ever. Farengar smiled too, however, the same worrying expression remained on the depth of his brown eyes. "No, I won't go back to the College. I want to learn to fight, build a life for myself…" she paused. "I'm not sure where to start."

Farengar examined her face for a while in silence. "Maybe you should go to the Jorrvaskr."

Freyja's eyes fell through the window on the long building under them. The Jorrvaskr, she had read, was actually built from a longboat – the roof is the ship itself, and everything else was made around it.

"The Companions? They are looking for experienced, great warriors, not someone who doesn't know how to hold a sword."

"Not nowadays, they don't," Farengar replied, turning to face with the girl. "The war took away the best warriors. The Companions complain they don't have enough men and women in their halls. Maybe you should try it. You have potential – I've seen what you can do with a bow and an arrow."

Freyja smiled. "I don't know. Maybe I'll try it. But not today – I'm exhausted."

They went back to Farengar's room, but before Freyja could leave, he put a small bag into her palm which she assumed was full of gold. "Farengar, I can't take this…"

"Yes, you can. You have no money, and you won't have anything until you figure out what you want to do. Take it," he said, pushing her hand away from himself. "Maybe you should buy a nice bow."

Freyja retuned his smile. "Thank you. I really appreciate it. If there's anything I can help you with… with the whole dragon business maybe…"

"I will tell you first."

...

Freyja went back to her room. It was big and richly decorated – something that they probably only gave to the noble guests. On the small table, she found some bread, cheese, fruits, and wine, but her legs carried her straight to the bed. She fell asleep short minutes after she pulled the blankets on her tired body, and in her dreams, she saw the same, black dragon again.

When she woke up long hours later, the city was noisy and crowded once again. She must have slept deeply, Freyja thought as she noticed someone put a bowl of fresh water on the nightstand next to her bed. she hadn't noticed someone had come in.

She took the bandages off her hands and she was happy to see they were fully healed. Only a thin, white scar remained on both of her palms. Without Farengar's help, it could have been much worse.

She shuddered, remember the bite of the blade and the pale faces of dying men. Hestily, Freyja shook herself. She had no time to worry about the past. Not when her future was looking so desperate.

What should she do?

Her possibilities were endless. The Companions were a good option but one that was very unlikely. One thing was for sure. She needed some sort of stability. A place to sleep and income were the most essential.

A city this large had to have an inn. Innkeepers tended to be in the know about job openings. That would be a good place to start.

She washed her face and ate some fruit before leaving her chamber. She was glad she didn't meet anyone on her way out of the palace; she didn't want to answer unnecessary questions about who she was and why she was in Helgen.

Finally, in the heart of the city, she caught little bits and pieces of conversations about Helgen, about the dragon. Some people were skeptical, but most sounded scared. As she walked, the townspeople scatter about like frightened mice.

She drew up the courage to ask the shop keepers if they had any work available. All her questions were met with a resounding no. Skeptical expressions mixed with hatred stared back into her own pleading expression.

"Freakin' mages."

Her shoulders slumped as the light hit her shoulders. The door swinging free behind her.

Of course, that would be the reason why she couldn't get a job here. She had the same issue in Winterhold. None of the Nords liked mages very much. Usually, when a Nord became a mage it was perceived as a traitorous act. Even though she was born with the ability, she was still marked as an outsider.

Dephine, the owner of the Bannered Mare, shook her head at her. A look of sympathy staining the lines of her face. The owner admitted that one of her servers had not been at work in a few days and quickly followed up with the statement that she could not afford to give a job to her. Not with another inn in town.

"Competition is Competition, dear. I would lose my customers. You understand?"

The innkeeper had certainly been kinder to her than the other shop keepers. She was almost as kind as the vegetable seller, who said she was only making enough to support her and her daughter but offered to buy any fruits or vegetables Freyja collected.

Freyja tightened she hand over the small bag of money Farengar had given her. It was no wonder he had forced her to take it. It was pretty obvious that she was going to have a tough time figuring out how to fit in.

She slowly trudged down the dirt path, heading towards the last two stores in town. Glancing at the Warmaiden, Freyja figured that she wouldn't have a chance at a job with a smith. There was skill required to work a job like that. Unless she offered to light the smith's forge every morning, Freyja figured she wouldn't be of much use. Sighing and then squaring her shoulders, Freyja pushing through the doors of the Drunken Huntsmen.

A large hearth illuminated the main room of the building. Vast displays of the shopkeepers wares were on the payment counter and on the walls. Freyja glanced around. The displays were impressive. For her experience, which wasn't much, the weapons and armory were well made. There was even a pile of furs on the counter.

She felt her courage beginning to slip as she approached the dark elf behind the counter. However, before she had even opened her mouth, the shopkeeper spoke.

"I do not have a job for you." The dark elf glanced up. The stricken look of confusion on her face must have been evident. "Relax, child. Word gets around fast in this city."

"Oh," she said, looking down at her feet.

"I don't care that you have magic. I can run this shop on my own. Never had any trouble. It would be a waste of money to hire someone I don't need."

"Well met. I'm sorry to have intruded." She glanced at the furs.

"Interested in buying?"

Fumbling over her words, Freyja fingered the bow slung across her back. An idea sprung to life. "Do you hunt or do you buy these off a merchant?"

"You flatter me. I'm not young anymore. I buy these off hunters that travel through. One just came in with his latest catches."

"I noticed these are a bit more pricey than most of your other wares."

The dark elf raised an eyebrow at her. "Yes. Hunters have been raising their prices. It's dangerous to travel these days and that makes everything more expensive."

Freyja nodded. Winter was on its way. People would be buying up as many furs as they could to stuff their beds with and to make clothing. It wasn't a long term plan. It wasn't even a solid one but it would get her living for a short while.

She looked over the furs once more. There was nothing special about these furs. They weren't fantastic quality or had silky smooth strains.

Yeah, she could do this.

"If I were to get you furs for half the price would you be willing to do business with me?"

The shopkeeper cracked her a smile. "Sweetheart, if you bring in something of value to me, I will give you what you've earned."

"In that case," Freyja burst out. Her heart soaring. "I'd like to purchase some arrows."


	3. The Companion's Test

Disclaimer: Prongsdeer is the author who generated the idea for this story. She is also the author of the first 15 chapters. I'm simply taking over the story after Prongsdeer has hit a severe case of writer's block. I have gone through and put in a few of my own scenes and added and deleted other scenes. I have also edited the piece as a whole for consistency and grammatical mistakes. You can find Prongsdeer at Tumblr as marvelcapsicle and AO3 as prongsdeer or u/9139894/

I do not own Skyrim or any of its characters.

* * *

Freyja stalked through the woods, following thick dark brown fur.

She had a mink in her sights. Lucky her. Minks were incredibly soft and provided delicious warmth. It would fetch a nice price.

Slowly she drew back her arrow. Her worn bow creaked and she prayed to the heavens that the weasel wouldn't hear the sound. She waited. The mink stood on its hind legs, sniffing the air, attempting to gain a grasp on its surroundings.

She couldn't damage the fur. If she damaged the fur the price would drop and she wouldn't be able to afford a place at the inn when she returned to town.

Before she set out on her hunting trip, she had already spent a week at the Jarl's palace. Even though the Jarl stated that she was more than welcome for as long as she needed, she felt her stay was coming to an end.

She wanted to be out, to support herself. And she didn't want to infringe on the Jarl's hospitality any longer. So, after seeing the Khajiit caravan camping outside the city walls, she figured she could do it too.

Her arrow flew through the air and lodged in the eye socket. Triumphant in her kill, but suppressing her whooping, Freyja ran forward and quickly gutted the animal by sliding her knife from the underside of the tail to the sternum. She then pulled the skin and fur from the corpse and tied the fur to her belt. It was brutal wearing the same clothing every single day. But it's what she had and she could deal with it. Slowly, she traveled back to her small camp.

Her bed was made of the furs that she had acquired. Nothing sheltered her from the elements. She had nothing else save for the small pot and a ladle she used for food.

It was time to head back to the Drunken Huntsmen. This would her second exchange with Elrindir, the shopkeeper. The first exchange had been nothing more than a couple of small furs. She found quickly that if she wanted to make a living doing this she would have to put her butt in gear.

A fire spell flew from her hand, roaring flames to life. Some water from the river and a few herbs were thrown into the pot. After the mink meat was cut up into thick chunks, it too joined the rest of the ingredients.

She watched the water begin to boil.

It was so much harder to survive then she originally thought. To be honest, most of her kills were the result of being attacked rather than hunting. She was scrapped up from a wolf who had nearly bitten her. If she hadn't of blasted it back with a forceful air gust she would have become food. She had been lucky, once again. She had kept enough meat for herself and sold the rest to some struggling travelers.

It was a struggle living day to day like this. She'd always had someone there to take care of her, to make sure there was food to eat and a warm bed to sleep in. But she would grow used to this new life. She had proven to herself in the past that she was adaptable. She could overcome hard things.

Freyja stuck her knife in the pot and swirled the contains around.

Did she really want to do this for the rest of her life? Stalking wild animals for their fur and living alone in the woods did not strike her as ideal.

It's okay for now, she told herself. There was no reason to despair over something that was currently working. Her mind flickered back to the Companions.

It came to her attention that the members went to the temple for healing when they received wounds too deep to heal on their own.

 _Maybe they're more accepting of magic then I originally thought. Would they be willing to teach me to defend myself using a weapon?_

Freyja glanced up at the full moon. It gave light to the land around her so that her vision wasn't as impaired by the darkness. Freyja watched the open stretches of the forest, contemplating when to cast her protective barriers around camp.

Just as she reached out to stir her pot, she spotted movement. A large furry figure hunched down on all fours was darting towards her. Her heart shuttered to stop. It was unlike anything she had ever seen in the woods. Immediately, she threw her arm up and combusted her campfire, filling the air with embers. Collecting the embers in the air, Freyja formed several fireballs and rocketed them into the ground around her.

Nocturnal animals didn't take kindly to fire.

It seemed this animal was the same. The creature was no longer running full fledge towards her. Although, it did keep moving forward. It's paw sank heavily into the ground with each certain step it took.

Tall pointed ears, a large snout, bushy tail, and a prominent mane only added to the majestic muscled structure some of a kind of dog, a massive dog.

Freyja trembled. Sweat laced her skin, making her feel clammy.

It was no dog.

The creature approached the fireballs set into the ground. Light cast across the beast and Freyja felt her spirit leave her body. The size of the beast, the claws, the almost human-like structure of the animal's form, and the glinting hot-cole colored eyes confirmed her greatest fears.

She was face to face with a werewolf.

A terrible scream echoed in her ears as the beast fell into another sprint. There was no way. She would not be eaten after everything she has survived.

Instinctively, she pulled every trace of fire towards her, surrounding herself in a whirling fury of red flames. The vertical tunnel swirled up towards the heavens like a hell bound tornado.

The heat was almost unbearable. Coughing, she curled down to the earth, hoping the cool ground would guard her against the whirling flames.

Through the orange and yellow flames, she saw the werewolf standing outside her barrier. If the beast had sense, it would know that there would be no way to get to her without severe burning. She held tight to her little hunting knife, wishing that she had chosen something with a longer blade.

She couldn't see well. And beyond the sound of the crackling fire, she couldn't hear anything either.

Freyja felt her mana slowly ebbing away and thanked her lucky stars that she spent so much time building up her endurance. The only problem was this barrier ate up more mana than most. She began to panic even more as her reserves dipped below half. She could feel the werewolf's presence, pacing around her protective barrier.

The roar of the fire deafened her. Breathing was getting harder. The fire was hard at work burning all the oxygen out of the center of the swirling ring of flames.

Tears cooled her flame singed cheeks as Freyja realized that she could no longer keep up her barrier. If she stayed in the center of her fire tornado, she would not have enough power to fight the beast off. Her skin would be burned. Her lungs would be oxygen deprived and smoke poisoned. The odds were stacked against her.

Shaking, she stood and dispersed the magical energy. Throwing her hands up, she gathered wind at her fingertips. She would throw this thing on its ass until it figured out it had no chance of eating her.

She stepped out of the flames.

The forest was clear. No signs of life. All that was left was the burning scorch marks scaring the earth.

Her hands shook violently in front of her. _Where did it go?_

Spinning around to survey her surroundings, a screamed issued from her lips. A large figure stood from the ground as she lost her balance and fell.

The air gathered in the palms of her hand shot out and severed the tips of the trees from their trunks. They fell to the ground. A resounding thud echoed through the forest.

"Hey. Look at that, when a tree falls it does make a sound."

Freyja shook, quaking where she fell.

 _Was he being sarcastic?_ The man turned his head to her. His eyes glistened silver blue. His long, dark hair reached his shoulders, cascading down past his strong, defined jaw. He was built, no lack of muscle at any point on his body.

Formidable. He was Formidable. Just as formidable as the werewolf.

Freyja lifted her hands once more. "You're the werewolf."

A hearty, earthy laugh burst out of his mouth. "No." He lumbered forward to what was left of her campfire. "He would be over there." The man's hair swung through the air as he jerked his head to the side.

She followed the direction of his chin thrust to a bloody mass hidden in the shadow of a tree. _He took that thing down by himself?_

"That's some impressive magic you have there. Although, it would have been better if you used it to attack…" He started to scrape out the strew, ladling the warm liquid into two different bowls.

Freyja felt her face reddened. She scowled heavily at him. She wasn't going to reprimand a man who could kill a werewolf single-handedly for eating the only food she had. But then again he had saved her from a brutal fate. "Well, I've never seen one before."

"Doesn't matter. Werewolves are common in these parts. So are vampires. If you are going to be out here, you need to learn out to act when you need to."

"I know." She took the bowl outstretched to her.

The man chuckled, gulped down his stew, and, to her surprise, patted her head. "You have heart. The look you had on your face, after emerging from your fire, showed you were ready for a fight. You just aren't battle worn. You'll get there." He licked the rim of the bowl. "Just need to live long enough."

"Happy thought," Freyja drawled. The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins. Her hands still shook but her voice seemed to shake more.

She had been helpless once again. Why did someone always have to save her?

Freyja drew a long breath. Apparently, she had a lot more to do then figure out how to make a living. She couldn't avoid it. She needed a teacher. Someone who would help her learn how to survive. If she was going to be hunting for a living it would be best to fend off those that would be hunting her in the process.

The stews warmth seeped through the bowl into her hands. It made her sensitive skin tingle, resisting the warmth it had already taken so much abuse from. She settled down on her furs and put the bowl to the side.

The man sat down too, scraping out what was left in the pot. He didn't respond to her snarky comment. He was too invested in cleaning out every last drop of stew from the pot's surface. Silently, she handed him her bowl.

"You sure."

"Final offer."

The corner of his mouth twitched up. He snatched the bowl from her hands with a grunt as thanks. He drank deeply. Large gulps moved past his jugular.

She looked him over. His armor was in disarray. Half of his breastplate plate was swinging free. It must have come loose as he battled the werewolf.

"I don't have anymore."

The man laughed. "I know. Thanks for the grub."

"The thanks should go to you. I don't think I would have been able to beat that thing."

"Not with a bow. Unless you can somehow take it down with one hit. Although, seem to be pretty good considering how shoddy that bow of yours is." He glanced at the furs that made up her makeshift bedroll.

Freyja nodded accepting the compliment.

Silence ensued. He wasn't a very talkative guy. Every time she got him talking, the conversation would dwindle into silence. He made no move to fill the void in conversation and it made her squirm.

Being a scholar, she was accustomed to silence. Silence filled her days endlessly. Her own thoughts and the turns of a page were the sounds that filled her little corner of the college.

Here in the light of her campfire, there was nothing to meditate over other than the man before her. She turned to look at the werewolf's unmoving body. He was incredibly strong. She strengthened her grip around her knife.

"You're holding that wrong."

"What."

The man shook his head amusedly. "Nothing. I should get going." He stood, walked a little way away and shouldered a pack he pulled from the foot of a tree. "I would learn how to defend myself before going on more hunts if I were you."

"I can," Freyja said, plucking the string of her bow.

"I mean close combat defense."

Freyja felt her despair hit her in the lungs. It seeped down into her stomach and then dredged up her to her ribs making its way to her shoulders. It embodied her. She could almost envision her despair seep into the ground beneath her, spreading outwards, poisoning the earth and all the wildlife that lived in proximity to her.

"Have you considered the companions?"

Surprised, her head jerked up. "You're the second person to suggest that."

He continued to shift his pack on his shoulders. An obvious excuse to hang around. She sighed, realizing he was waiting for something more. "I have but I don't think they'll have me. I know what people think of mages," she muttered. "Besides, it seems I can't even hold a knife right."

"No one expects you to do something right if you were taught in the first place."

She didn't look at him.

He was right. Werewolves were vicious and hard to put down. If he hadn't shown up she'd be dead.

As must as she had begged the mages to teach her to defend herself without the use of magic, she had never been successful.

Taking a deep breath, she stood and started to roll her furs together and bound them. After dumping her things in her pack she strapped both the pack and the furs to her back and stood.

He was still there, waiting.

"You heading to Whiterun?"

"Yep."

"Mind if I tag along?"

"Keep up."

Hurrying forward, she watched him turn, walking away from the campsite, leaving her to run after him.

…

Light broke past the horizon. Her footsteps quicker than the man's in front of her.

It hadn't taken long for her pack to start hindering her progress. Too many furs weighed her down but she refused to rest. The man never looked back. She sensed that he was very much aware of her and her struggles. His pace had definitely slowed over the course of the night and it was not because he was tired. He didn't show any signs of The clanking of his sword against his armor banged at a constant rhythm.

Freyja watched the flowers on the side of the road dance in the wind. The dirt stirred up at their feet.

She looked over the walls and passed the stationed guards. The walls weren't as welcoming as they had been the first time she passed through into the city.

They crossed over the drawbridge and approached the gates.

"There he is," one of the guards chortled.

" I wasn't gone long." The man placed his hand on the pommel of his sword.

"I see you picked up a straggler."

"Well, I do like company."

The guards fell into a loud ruckus. Their laughter spilled out of them through their bellies and between their fingers. The man pleased with his joke cast her a sideways glance. Freyja gave the warrior a pointy look that expressed her indignance at being the butt of whatever joke he was making.

"You mind if we pass through," Freyja said as politely as possible while giving her travel-worn companion an icy stare down.

"Sure thing sweetheart." Immediately her icy stare snapped towards the offending soldier. He laughed nervously. "Here you go." The door opened and she made a point to walk through before her travel companion. She heard him chuckle behind her, which turned her from being upset to downright irate.

The moment the gates close, she turned to give the fiercest look she could muster.

"I didn't appreciate that."

"I noticed."

"You're insufferable."

"I've been told that."

"And you're okay with that?"

The man tipped his head like a puppy analyzing something perplexing. A smile played on his lips. He was clearly amused by the spectacle that was her. His deep brown eyes were friendly. His face young under his short beard. Freyja couldn't avoid the fact he was charming.

"I suppose not," he said.

"Then why do it."

He shrugged.

"You have immense logic." She adjusted the pack on her shoulders. "Well, thanks for saving my life and letting me travel with you. I appreciate what you've done for me." She stalked away from the man's watchful gaze and passed through the door of the Drunken Huntsmen before he could retaliate on her rude manner.

"There you are," Elrindir chided. "I was wondering if you decided on a different profession."

"Not yet." Freyja smiled and settled her pack on the ground. Pulling on the bindings that secured the rolls of furs to her pack, she quickly pulled the fur up onto the counter. "What'll these get me."

Elrindir pulled the roll to him, inspecting the quality of the fur. "How do you feel about 500 septums for the lot?"

"Isn't that a bit much."

"It is. But I'm hoping this will be an incentive for you to buy your next bow with me." Freyja gave him a skeptical look. Then smiled. "I do need an upgrade. Have any suggestions within my price range."

"How about something halfway decent?" Elrindir grabbed a simple hunter's bow and handed it to her over the counter.

She hefted it in her hand and pulled the string back to test the weight of the draw. It was heavier than the bow she had currently. But it was still within her strength to pull the string to its full draw. This would be a good change. It would strengthen her arm and give her a greater shooting range.

"The wood seems sound. The string looks new too," Freyja said as she drew a finger up the wood of her new bow. "How much?"

"150. I've already taken the amount out of your earnings." The dark elf handed her a pouch of gold. "I look forward to your next visit."

Freyja couldn't help the smile that brightened her face. She had 350 septums left. That was more than enough for a bed for the night. More than enough for food as well. She could upgrade her knife and collect any other materials she needed to help her on her hunting trips.

But her smile slowly fell from her face the moment she placed her new bow on the small dining table in her inn room.

Visions of the werewolf through the flames flashed before her eyes. The sharp teeth as thick as her thumb and the beast's vivid ruby eyes burned their way in the course of her memories.

The warrior said that werewolves and vampires were plentiful in Whiterun Hold. Freyja looked her bow over and regretted now grabbing herself a sword as well. Could she afford a sword?

She couldn't go bad out there. At least, not on long trips. As she was now, she could only do day trips. That wouldn't get her the furs she needed.

She felt her breath come more quickly to her. Pressure started to build up around the walls of her lungs. She was weak. She couldn't protect herself enough to do her trade. And, she couldn't get a job inside the city. Knowledge of her talents had gotten around. People now confirmed that she wasn't just dressed weird. She was dressed that way for a reason.

Mage clothing. Mage. It was a simple calculation.

Freyja pressed a trembling hand firmly to her mouth.

She should get some regular clothes. There was no way she would be able to afford armor safely. She needed money for other things and emergencies. Elrindir had been very gracious with his purchase. He would not offer her that much again. She needed to be careful.

How was she going to live? Her options were so limited.

The advice the warrior and her friend, Farengar, rang through her ears.

The companions would be a good choice. It would be a stable income at least. Would they accept her? Once again she felt despair overwhelm her. The Companions have never welcomed a mage in their halls. They were a Nordic guide. Even though they did house warriors of other races and were very adaptive to the warriors that showed promise, Freyja wasn't sure the same could be said about mages. She might as well ask them to accept the werewolf that attacked her to be accepted into the guild hall.

Tears stung her eyes, remember the guard's constant warnings her that the use of destruction magic was not permitted with the walls of the city.

A firm knock resonated through the air, vibrating the door of her room. Stifling a squeak, Freyja turned in time to see the innkeeper with a large bowl of steaming water.

"I thought you would something to wash with," she said. A sympathetic smile rose on the innkeeper's face, plumping her cheeks.

The stinging in Freyja's own cheeks reminded her of the tears she'd been shedding. "Oh, thank you," she said whipping her cheeks. The innkeeper set the bowl down. From her apron, she withdrew a bundle of fabric.

"Here." Confused, Freyja took the bundle. "It's a nice enough dress." Freyja started to push the bundle back at the innkeeper but she was cut off. "I can't let you wander around in those rags any longer."

Freyja took a quick look down and couldn't disagree. She looked like a wreck. She'd been wearing the same thing for over a week. The only times her mage robes had gotten a wash was when he got the bravery to wash in the river after thoroughly checking the area was clear.

Her skin grew warm.

"Dear, if you want to start fitting in with the rest of the townsfolk, dressing decently would be a good way to start."

"Ye- Yes." Freyja stammered. Her embarrassment rising with every single microsecond.

"Good. Come out when you're done washing. I'll have a hot meal waiting for you." As soon as she entered, the innkeeper left.

Freyja stood rooted to the spot. She should have shopping for clothes sooner. Regretting every financial decision she ever made in her life, Freyja stripped and washed her skin.

She would go see the Companions. At the very least, she should let them reject her before she decided the limitation of her own fate.

The warm liquid ran down her dirt and sweat covered skin. A sigh escaped her lips. This was pure bliss.

...

The blooming Eldergleam tree was beautiful as she sat beneath it, letting the leaves shade her from the remaining warmth of summer. She'd been gazing up at the Jorrvaskr for much too long but she hadn't yet built up the courage.

She had read so many stories about the Companions, and never thought she could become one of them. Part of her told her that she was just wasting time, they would never take her in…

But on the other hand, she had nothing to lose.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to her feet and walked up to the long building before she could change her mind.

There was a long table in the center of the hall full of food and drink. For a few seconds, it seemed no one noticed her. Everyone was minding their own business, talking, drinking, eating, and laughing, and she had no idea who she should go to. She cleared her throat and looked around again. A woman looked up at her. The same woman who was slaying the giant outside the city when she first arrived. She must be in her early thirties, her shoulder-length ginger hair shined in the fire's light.

"I'm sorry… uh… who's in charge in here?"

The woman looked up at Freyja with her bright green eyes. She leaned back on her chair. "Why?"

As she spoke up, Freyja realized the noise around them died away. She looked around again to see everyone in the hall turned to them. She licked her lips and turned back to the woman, "A friend of mine said you're looking for new recruits. I just thought… well, I thought I could join."

Freyja heard a loud laugh from her left and turned to the direction of it: A muscular, half-naked, blond man. "You're the mage that been asking for jobs? You want to be a companion? Very funny, girl."

She regretted ever coming in. She now wore the dress the innkeeper had given to her. She looked much better. Her hair had combed and platted and she was clean for once. But. her appearance obviously did nothing to hide her mage status. She opened her mouth to say something, but the redhead woman cut her off. "But you aren't a mage, are you? You seem too young to be one."

There was it; her way in. Then again, it wouldn't be a good first impression to lie…

"I am a mage," she started. The blonde man snorted, but Freyja went on. "But I do know how to bow a bow fairly well. Right now, I'm looking to learn to wield a sword."

"We're not taking in children and mages. Have you ever fought before," another woman with short, black hair asked from across the room.

Freyja swallowed hard. "Yes," she said, thinking back at Helgen. "And, I'm not a child!"

"How old is she, fifteen?" she heard laughs and murmurs again and honestly started to regret she followed up on this lead. She had been right. It was a waste of time.

"I'm 22. If you want to patronize me at least get your facts straight. That way, you're actually proving a point. It's called choosing your battle; something essential to being a successful warrior, as you should know," she snapped at the woman.

"Is that so?" The red-headed woman leered at her. She reached down and raised a bow for Freyja to take. "Is this a battle you can overcome?"

Once more regretting her actions, Freyja took the bow from her; the red-head walked across the room and opened the backdoor. She walked back to the middle of the room where the hearth lay and waved to Freyja.

"See that pigeon over there?" she pointed the bird at the top of the stone wall. "If you can shoot it, you're in." Freyja looked up at the young woman; she had a devilish smile on her face. She already believed she won. "You can try… three times. Let's hope it won't fly away."

Freyja couldn't help the smile on her face. "Is that all." a chuckle escaped from her lips. "Back in Winterhold, they would have archery competitions of the more extreme nature. I won each tournament since the first year I started learning." She walked all the way back to the front doors of the hall, putting even more distance between her and the target. "My record is being able to consistently hit my target from 100 paces away. The length of my pace is about four feet. Which means I can consistently hit a mark from about 400 feet away." With one last smirk, Freyja notched a steel-tipped arrow and quickly dispatched the bird, making it look effortless as if she couldn't be bothered to even aim. "A meer 120 feet isn't much of a challenge." The pigeon fell on the ground, and all in the room looked as though they couldn't believe their eyes.

"Did you used magic?" the black haired woman asked.

Freyja furrowed her eyebrows angrily. "No, I didn't."

"Of course you did! You couldn't even see that fucking bird! And I saw it was flying away – well, moving, really. You probably did something…"

Anger rose from her gut. Fine. She was a mage, but that didn't mean that magic had corrupted her integrity. "Sources of light are always a tale-tale sign that magic was used. Did you see any light from my person?" Freyja looked directly at the red-headed woman. "I thought the Companions were supposed to be honorable?" A look of anger came from the black haired woman. "I get enough patrony from the townsfolk."

Valiantly holding onto her anger to stop her tears of despair, Freyja thrust the bow's handle back at the red-haired woman. When the woman made no signs of taking it, she set the weapon on the table and left through the door she entered through.

She could figure something out. Stalking out through the doors, her feet carried her back underneath the Eldergleam tree.

Children ran around the truck, screaming "you're it" whenever they touched the shoulder of another child. She watched as one of the children hide behind a bench and then shot out, encasing another child in his arms, screaming that he won.

 _Freyja couldn't help but smile. Children were so rare in Winterhold…_

 _That's it!_

 _A trap._

She can set up traps. It was easy enough to figure out were animals traveled frequently. All she had to do was take what she knew of the animals in the area and set traps. She wouldn't have to be out at night and all it would take was checking the traps. She could set the traps out further from town and hunter closer in the day. That way every couple of days she could make a day trip to check her traps. She could even rotate through them. Traps to the north, south, east, and west.

A growing kindling excitement flooded through her. She would be able to do this. She would be able to task her profession during the day and avoid the danger that nightfall brought.

The sound of a door opening caught her attention. A large man had exited the Jorrvaskr. Not just any man. The warrior from the day before. She felt a shock.

He was searching for something and seemed to find it the moment his eyes rested on her. He stared down at her, his mouth stressed into a frown. She felt a seed of hollowness enter her gut. He had recommended she go to Jorrvaskr. Had he pitted them against her?

No. There was concern written in the worry lines on his forehead. He had not pitted them against her.

The man took a step down the stairs to her.

"Move alone." Freyja jerked at the sound of the guards. "No loitering."

Taking a glance back at the steps of the Jorrvaskr, Freyja propelled herself in motions. If she wanted to put those traps down, it needed to be done before the sun rose any higher in the sky. She would need equipment and fast feet.


	4. Winter is Coming

Disclaimer: Prongsdeer is the author who generated the idea for this story. She is also the author of the first 15 chapters. I'm simply taking over the story after Prongsdeer has hit a severe case of writer's block. I have gone through and put in a few of my own scenes and added and deleted other scenes. You can find Prongsdeer at Tumblr as marvelcapsicle and AO3 as prongsdeer or u/9139894/

I do not own Skyrim or any of its characters.

Sweat dripped down the side of her face as she packed corn in her arms. Despite the frostbitten air, her blood ran swift and hot through her veins. Sweat ran down her temples. All that work and they'd barely covered a fourth of the field.

Carefully, Freyja placed the vegetables in the basket and glanced around. Winter was a[approaching quicker than expected and the farmers were desperate for any help they could get. Unfortunately, those willing to help were far and few. Everyone was rushing about preparing their homes for the colder seasons.

A young boy ran up to her throwing a bundle of carrots unceremoniously into a basket.

"Hey! Treat those veggies proper," explained the farmer

The boy grinned up at her. Dirt smeared across his face and all the way up his arms. Freyja and the farmers chuckled at the boys enthusiasm. Shaking her head, she urged her tired legs back into the field. If the children could keep going, she certainly could.

Hours streamed by as the sun crossed the sky faster than she and the farmers could pick. Most men kept their distance, but every once in a while one of the younger men would throw a question her way.

"So, you spent your whole life in a castle studying magic."

"Not just magic. Botany, animals, history, and other things."

"Wouldn't you do better teachin'?"

"I suppose…" Memories of the lonely hall caused her to hesitate. "I don't want that though. I want to experience the world— make a difference."

Several of the farmers exchanged looks. "And living on the streets, surviving day to day is making a difference."

Picking the last corn from the stalk, Freyja secured the bundle in her hands. "I'm not out to write my name in history. I think helping people is as good a difference as any other."

She held her breath as she turned to the young man. "Besides… If I'm going to be totally honest, I just don't like it in Winterhold. It's too cold, stuffy. I don't want to spend my whole life stuck between stone walls."

The young man nodded, "I can respect that."

The hollow clang told the farmers dinner was ready. The rest of the work would have to wait for another day.

…

Her trap route was strategic. Her less profitable days usually meant she needed to change locations. Other than that, she continually hauled furs on Elrindir's shop counter.

As she suspected, Elrindir greatly overpriced her first transaction with him. Now, she was getting two to seven septums per fur, depending on the fur quality and the size. It was enough to buy food and sleep in an inn room every night, although she learned quickly her money was best saved sleeping outside on warmer nights.

She curled her toes under the wool blanket, feeling the heat of the fire on her face. She watched the flames flicker, licking the air.

Her name and presence were slowly being perceived in a more positive light. She did people favors, helped them with their problems. Her morning trap runs left her much time in the afternoons and evenings. More than not, she found herself running errands for Whiterun's high society or helping the less wealthy with problems they didn't have the power to fix. She didn't know how many times she scolded Braith for bullying Lars or recovered Andurs's Amulet of Arkay (He kept losing the damn thing). She was even growing accustomed to helping the farmers pull in their crops.

Townspeople were starting to acknowledge her with waves or greetings. She was infinitely more welcome in the city walls than she was when she first arrived.

"Between the war and the return of the dragons, I wonder if we should not leave Skyrim and ply our trade elsewhere," Atahbah said.

Freyja watched the Khajiit elders gather together as the rest of the caravan wander off to bed. Atahbah worried her withering clothes in her claws, eyeing her aging leader with anticipation.

During nights when the Khajiit caravan was camped outside the town, Freyja would spend the nights with them. It took a while for them to build trust; however, Freyja found that they were good folks, despite their questionably acquired merchandise. She often exchanged magical services, such as charging magical weapons or pieces of jewelry for things she needed.

"I admit, the dragons are a concern, but we can avoid them if we do not stay in one place for too long," Ri'saad said.

Rumors of dragons were becoming more frequent. Even the great city of Solitude was no longer a haven from the beasts. On her trips into the wild, she heard the roars and felt the air vibrate. There were times when she thought she had caught glimpses of black and red scales, but the moment she turned around to look, the dragon was gone.

She felt her heart strain. Even with a steady income, she felt her time was ticking. It wasn't safe out there. Even during the day. According to the shaggy Companion, she didn't know how to hold her buck knife properly. Her magic was only a small force against all the dangers standing against her.

Even so, she wasn't going to use her powers if she could help it. People were only accepting her because she refrained from using magic. If she openly used it to defend herself, she would be ostracized once again— labeled a murderer.

"That may be, but what of the war? That is not so easy to escape from."

"The war? That is not a reason to leave, it is a reason to stay."

Frowning, Freyja looked at the leader of the caravan. The sideburns and the long swaying hair hid the old Khajiit's face from her hollowed stare.

"And what makes you think that."

Ri'saad turned his body to look at their guest. "Because war is good for business, of course." The heat the fire was sucked from the air as Freyja turned head down to stare at her covered toes.

"That's an ungodly business."

"But it'll feed our children."

Freyja nodded curtly, remembering the many times she gave what little she had to the homeless child Lucia. "Caring for our children takes priority."

"Indeed, it does,"

…...

Freyja drew a fur coat around herself, shivering every time the wind flowed through her as though she was nothing more than a sheet of parchment.

More townsfolk were buying up Freyja's wares, offering her coin the moment she returned from a trip rather than pay the full price at the Drunken Huntsman. Mostly, Freyja refused. Unless the offer came from someone with clothes as thin as Lucia's.

Walking up behind Lucia, Freyja wrapped the thick fur-lined cloak around the shivering child. It would never ceases to amaze how people would turn a blind eye to the child when they obviously had more than they needed.

"Are you sure," Lucia chattered.

"I'm sure," Freyja tucked the cloak completely around the girl's thin body. "I don't need it. It's much too small for me." Freyja straightened, pleased with the way the coat fit the child.

She had to guess at the measurements and it took a while to convince Lillith Maiden-Loom to agree to make a decent cloak, but she managed it. The old woman had tittered at her until she agreed to take her place in harvesting for the next couple days on top of paying her. "You'll have to remember to take care of it. I won't be able to get my hands on a new one."

The young girl beamed up her. The happy spark in her eyes was a better reward than Freyja could have imagined.

"I managed to get enough today for a room at the inn," Lucia said. She plopped herself down on the bench, swinging her legs to and fro. "If I try a little harder maybe I'll get enough for dinner."

Freyja frowned at the girl. The flesh of her cheek caught between her teeth as she glanced at a redguard man. "I'm not sure how I feel about you begging, sweetie." She ran her fingers through the imperial child's hair smoothing it down in an attempt to make the child look somewhat presentable.

"What'll I do if I don't?"

Pulling out her coin purse, Freyja pressed a few gold septums into the girls hands, "I'm sure I can manage to put food in that belly and a roof over your head for the nights."

The girl's next expression was one too complex for her age; something between gratitude and guilt. Freyja found it too startling to bear. No child should be so conflicted to accept help with the knowledge that their benefactor may go hungry.

Without confirming or denying the child's reason for reluctance, Freyja patted the girl on the head. "You better hurry along and get yourself a room. You don't want to be out of a warm bed because the inn has filled."

Lucia scrambled her way off the bench and hurried to the Bannered Mare. Freyja's own feet hit the market place cobblestones soon after. Luckily, there wasn't any snow yet. It meant she could continue camping outside the city walls. The cold season was much too bitter in Whiterun Hold to go without warm shelter. She would die of frostbite.

Carlotta waved. A genuine smile gracing the window's face. Without missing a beat, Freyja headed over to the fruit and vegetable stand. "Good evening."

"Thank the devines, I thought I would have to mark my vegetables down."

"They starting to sour?"

"Yes. You're buying today, right," the woman asked hopefully.

"I could use ingredients for tonight's meal."

"Perfect!" Carlotta packed together the last of the produce from her stand with haste.

"Do you have to be somewhere?"

"I-ah. No...I've just been having some trouble." Carlotta let out a straining sigh and dunked an already sopping clothe in her water bucket. "You have enough troubles of your own without minding mine."

Freyja watched her friend wipe down the counter. "I won't push you if you don't want to tell me, but I'm willing to listen if you need an ear."

Carlotta gave Freyja a meek smile. The suns' light dimly reflecting in her eyes. "Thanks."

Freyja nodded, watching her friend wipe down the counter and shove her earnings in a small coin purse. As she waved her friend goodbye, her heart reached out to the woman. She had seen the way men pestered her as she tried day in and out to make enough to feed her little girl.

Sadly, the last time she had tried to stand up for Carlotta against another villager ended in disaster. She still had so little respected that she couldn't so much as pick a side without having many of the townsfolk revolt against her and whoever she tried to help. It was best that she stayed away from controversy.

Freyja entered the inn. Tonight the Drunken Huntsman was much much too full. There wasn't any room for her. Tonight, the Bannered Mare was also busy. A gaggle of men passed food and drink around as they sung the tells of the evening hunts. A couple young maidens postured nearby, hoping to catch the eye of some of the more wealthy drunkards. Ducking around a dancing couple, Freyja nearly made it to the counter, when she felt a tug on her waist pulling her in the opposite direction.

"Hello, there."

"You." The Companion, her savior and, seemingly, constant annoyance, smiled down at her with a spark of mischievousness. His dark hair swung down to greet her, whacking her in the face. He was a handsome sight— made more appealing by the crows feet crowning the corners of his eyes.

"Yes, me."

"Do you mind." Freyja tried pulling herself free of his arm.

"Come. Have a drink." The smell of alcohol rolled off his tongue and accosted her nose.

"I think you've had enough."

"Com'on you've been working hard these past couple weeks. It's okay to have some fun."

Freyja caught a glimpse of two women sitting at the table the Companion had seemingly abandoned. Each of them glaring at her venomously. "I'll pass."

The man appraised her, still clinging to her waist with that enormous arm. His skin was a sickly pale. It contrasted horribly with the red rimming of his eyes. He seemed dazed, not steady on his feet. His starlight eyes filled with abandon. "If you keep this up your going to fall ill. Too much work and no play makes jack an ill boy."

"It's too much work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, not sick." Initially, she thought his drunken appearance was due to the fiery liquid running through his veins. Now, she thought it was something more. "Are you sure you aren't the one who's sick?"

He hummed placing his forehead against hers. His skin was searing. A bead of sweat trailed down his cheek into his beard. "I do feel awful."

"So, the witch has decided to become a harlot," came a shrill voice.

Freyja jerked her head away from the Companion to see one of the girls smirking savagely at her. Her red hair twisted up into a magnificent crown of braids. She was beautiful. Her wild allure pulled together with glamourous emeralds set around her irises. "Is that how you actually get those furs. Sell yourself to keep yourself warm for the night and the nights after."

The girl opposite her, a blonde with elegantly curled hair and lips stained the color of a rose blossom. "Oh, Dibeliah would be proud." Giggling spread from the girls, migrating to other tables.

"I hate to break it to you but Farkas doesn't pay for cheap whores."

Her throat constricted, making it hard for her to retaliate. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, making it hard to hear the whispered laughter around her. "You would know, wouldn't you?"

Farkas's bark of laughter burst through the dining hall along with several other men. "You're right." He gestured widely at the redhead. "I didn't even fork over a septum for her." The humiliation settled into Freyja's heart reflected on both women's faces.

Rude jeering and obscene gestures followed Freyja as she quickly shoved past the towering man and out into the street. Forget a warm comfortable bed. She would settle for peace and quiet over simple luxury. Her eyes stung as she braced herself against the bitter cold.

 _To hell with that man. He was grown. If he wanted to drink in his sickly state, let him._

She fell back against the city wall and slide down until she hit the ground. She felt sick. Her stomach turned in her stomach, although her sudden illness didn't elude her from the sound of footfall.

Quickly, she wrenched her hair out of its ponytail at the back of her head, praying the curtain would hide her reddened face.

"Wait, witch. Devines you're fast." Her turning stomach quickly replaced with anger. The same large hand that had trapped her wrist earlier pulled her around.

"What is your problem?"

The man beamed down at her. His joy akin to a dog bounding up to his irate owner after chasing the chickens around the coop.

"Where you going? The party's in there." He jabbed his thumb up over his shoulder in the direction of Warmaiden's.

Freyja pressed her lips together; a physical attempt to hold her tongue. "I'm not interested in drinking. I was looking to rent a room."

"So was I. They're sold out." The shadows crossing his face made his pout more pronounced.

A disgusted sound emitted from the back of her throat. "Planning to take the redhead for another spin," she said mockingly.

"Nah. she wasn't fun. Just laid there like a dead fish. I hate fish." Not so sure how to retaliate to that observation, Freyja watched silently as the man swayed. He was obviously too slobbering drunk to understand he pegged her down with the reputation of a common whore. She hated to admit it, but her humiliation wasn't really his fault. He had only stopped her for a greeting.

Freyja sighed, inspecting him. He really didn't look good. Any glimpse she of him as of late, he seemed to be in some type of disarray. It didn't fit the image of him sitting at her campfire after killing off that werewolf. But wait… his armor wasn't put on right then either.

"How long have you been feeling unwel-"

A loud belch protruded from the man's mouth. In his laughter at her disgusted look, the giant of a man lost his footing and fell, pulling her to the ground with him.

"For the love of- you! Let go of me," Freyja yelled, kicking out at the man to create distance. The man cackled, wincing. "Go home. You're drunk and have a fever AND you're causing me nothing but trouble."

"Sorry,"the man breathed through his tremors. "Wasn't trying to."

"Wasn't trying to." Freyja launched into a lecture. "What do you call grabbing people and pulling them around?"

"Jus tryna start a talk."

"Well, don't grab people. I don't like it."

"Coulda pulled away."

"No, I couldn't. Look. I'm already bruising where you grabbed me!"

The man's eyes snapped hazily in her general direction. "'m sorry. I didn't mean to hurt ya."

"Of course, you didn't. You so slobbering drunk you can't control your strength," she muttered. She grabbed his arm with both hands and started tugging him off the ground.

She could leave him here. It wasn't as if anyone would do anything to him, not a companion. But it wouldn't be right. Not with the dropping temperatures.

The moment the man was on his feet, he leaned heavily on her. "Skjor says I have the strength of Ysgramor, and my brother has his smarts," he said glumly. "Guess I need more training. Didn mean ta hurt you."

"It's fine. I can't carry you. You need to walk on your own."

Slowing, Freyja steadied the man and they made their way to Jarrvaskr. After several reminders that she wasn't a leaning post, they finally made to the courtyard and up the steps to the double doors.

The door thudded shut calling the attention of the ginger-haired companion and a greying man she'd never seen before.

"What's the meaning of this." The woman got up, walking towards them quickly as her peer's head lulled to the side. Freyja felt more and more weight bearing down on her shoulders.

"He's ill...and drunk. I thought I'd return him instead of leaving him to freeze in the street."

"Again, Farkas." the woman gripped the man's shoulders.

"We shou enlist her. She's nice," The drunken Companion slurred.

The old man chuckled as the woman rolled her eyes and pulled his arm around her shoulders.

"We know she's nice, but she can't fight for septum. You said so yourself, she doesn't even have proper stances."

"I'm right here."

"Won evar be good if no one teach 'er!"

"We already have enough people to teach. Let's focus on priming Njada and Athis for the inner circle and then we'll take on new members."

"While that is a logical route, It may now be for the best," the white-haired man said. "I've heard the wolf population around town has decreased significantly since the mage has taken to the fur trade." The old man turned to study Freyja. "Come closer." His grey beard and hair, blue eyes, and pale skin made him look cold, but his warm, friendly voice showed he wasn't he seemed to be first. "Killing all those wolves is an accomplishment. How did you do it? With magic."

Freyja didn't answer. She would already be suffering from the scandal in the tavern. She would not have the Companions spreading rumors she was using magic to get her furs. "I'll take my leave now."

"Supose t' freeze t'night." Farkas winced as The ginger-haired women pinched him. "We 'ave plenty a room."

Freyja felt her rage return. "Why would I want to-"

The door opened. A courier standing on the threshold holding a letter. "A letter for you, ma'am. Your eyes only."

She tore the letter open, reading fast at first and then slowly after realization settled on her.

The owner of the Bannered Mare, Hulda, had apologetically written out her banishment from the inn for humiliating the daughters of a wealthy thane of Solitude and for rumors of solicitation.

Before she could stop herself, she settled her head in her hands and wept. Maybe she should go home. It was plain that no one wanted her here. The courtier's shoes were still in her sight. Even the red-haired woman seemed to have shaken her peer long enough to step toward her.

"Ma'am. It's going to get to freezing temperatures tonight." There was a pause as the courtier busied with something in his hands. "Take care of yourself." He left after lingering some more.

"You okay," Farkas muttered. A hand to large to be the woman's clasped her wrist to pull her hands from her face.

"Don't touch me!" Freyja flung his hands away. "You couldn't just keep your hands to yourself," Freyja yelled. "Now those women you were with are going around telling the town I'm a harlot. I don't need your help and I don't want it."

Freyja ran blindly out of the Companion's halls, trying to stop the tears before her cheeks stung too bad. The moment she reached the bottom of the stone steps a small figure curled between the benches caught her eye.

"Lucia, did you not get a room?"

The girl shook her head. Her arms and legs were pulled into the coat in an attempt to keep warm. Freyja reached down and hauled the girl into her arms.

"Come on. Let go to my camp. We'll get a fire started and drink for tea.

At her camp, she laid the girl in her bedroll and piled on all the furs she owned. The fire started with a flick of her wrist and the tea was prepared on moments later, but that didn't stop the fridged air from turning her fingers numb. Her bones shook, although she did manage to keep Lucia warm enough to sleep comfortably.

The sun couldn't rise fast enough. Somewhere in the darkness she heard the howls of wolves. Firelight was her only barrier aside from the magic in her fingertips and a hunting blade.

She should go back to the college. There she was safe and welcomed.

Freyja shook her head at herald, strapping supplies and tools to her being as the first rays of light shone across the sky.

No. She had wished for too long to not be locked in those stone walls to give up. She should never have thought it would be so easy. Even in Winterhold people stared at mages disapprovingly. While the other mages could bear the prejudice, she could not. Most mages chose to study mage. She has been born with it.

She shouldered her pack, demanding her will to strengthen. She would overcome this. She didn't need an inn to keep warm. There was always an alternative.

Lucia's hand gripped her coat as her hand glided the pack's straps in place, placing her feet briskly one in front of the other. Another day of work. She urged herself forward.


End file.
